To Hell and Back
by Freya-Kendra
Summary: Could it really be possible to go to Hell and back? And whose nightmare is it, anyway? Excerpt: Blair watched the image of himself surge forward, running toward the image of Jim. But ten seconds was all they had… Not even close to enough time….


To Hell and Back (Welcome To My Nightmare--Redux)

by Freya-Kendra

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Angst, H/C, Drama

Summary: Inspired by Alice Cooper's song of the same name. Could it really be possible to go to Hell and back? And whose nightmare is it, anyway?

Excerpt: Blair watched the image of himself surge forward, running toward the image of Jim. But ten seconds was all they had. Ten seconds from the time the trigger was released to the actual detonation. Ten seconds. Not even close to enough time.

Welcome To My Nightmare First Posted to Cascade Times and Shaman Sense: October, 2004.

This version, completely rewritten & reposted: September, 2009

Immense thanks to Lila Kulp and Cheryl R., whose feedback helped me to bring out the best in this story and rebuild it into something truly worth writing and hopefully worth reading!

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**To Hell and Back (Welcome To My Nightmare--Redux)**

_by Freya-Kendra_

* * *

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

The only sound he heard was a single heartbeat.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

Raising his weapon, Jim pointed it toward Blair.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

He pulled the trigger.

The heartbeat became a cacophony of kettle drums and clashing cymbals. It exploded into a nightmarish sensory overload. Sound merged with touch as a hot wind threw him backwards and forwards at once, piercing his flesh with bits of concrete, glass and steel. Clouds of smoke and gravel-dust burned its way into his lungs. The taste of blood coated his tongue. It was as though Vesuvius itself had just belched out the guts of Hell in a single, deafening eruption.

And then all sounds faded, merging into one, final, desperate scream.

"No!"

That cry echoed through the silent fire until a thick void swallowed it all.

The fire, the scream, everything was sucked into a pure, black nonexistence.

Nothing remained but the smell of blood and musk .

And the sudden taste of .... _green_.

It tasted green, like a veritable stew of leaves, grasses and moss. _A jungle_? Yes. He could feel it embracing him, pulling him down, submerging him under a verdant, heady sea until .

The feel of whiskers at his neck .

Hot, moist breath sniffing at his eyes .

The scraping of claws at the roots that held him down.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

He could hear it again, that single heartbeat, seemingly undisturbed, unfazed by the workings of the void.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

It soothed him.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

He took a long breath of musty air.

And then .

_Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump. _

The heartbeat changed. It became the rotors of an Army helicopter.

_Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump. _

It was close too close. The sound was deep and threatening until it merged with something else, evolving into a low rumble. He could feel its rattle in his own throat even as he heard it coming toward him from a distance. It was the growl of an angry beast.

He blinked. Vision returned. Light found him. The black void skittered away.

Another blink, and then he was the angry beast prowling the jungle.

No. Not prowling. Pacing. He was pacing in front of something that smelled sickly sweet, something rotting in the undergrowth.

He nudged the dead thing with his muzzle. Both knowing and confused, he wanted it to awaken, yet it did not move. He reached for it with his left paw. Catching bits of cloth in his claws, he pulled the thing toward him until its ruined face stared back at him with open, unseeing eyes.

Blair Sandburg's dead, unseeing eyes.

A tickle of a memory told him that he had been something once, or at least had tried to be to become. But like Vesuvius he had broken apart, shattering into a million shards of watery air to fill the empty spaces of this dark, thick, green void. He saw those pieces now, scattered all about him, pieces of a ruined Blair Sandburg, mirror images of the corpse he had already explored. They lay broken and bloodied in the soft undergrowth. And deep in their midst he saw something else. A thing that lacked even the feel of prior life began to climb out of the ground, as though a wayward, rotted seed had found the means to merge death with life. It grew into a thick, black mass and began to pulse, beating with a steady, slow cadence.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

It was as though this particular jungle's dead, dark heart had gained new life from a dozen dead Blair Sandburg's.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

It taunted him.

And then.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

_Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump._

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

The heartbeat became a helicopter became a heartbeat once more, surging blood through the veins of the Amazon, seeding the birth of a verdant vine that snaked up, coiling around the black mass, pulling it to the ground enabling a single shadow to detach itself.

Walking out on four legs, it evolved into the form of a black panther and looked toward him, questioning him with a clear, emerald gaze. For a long moment, it sniffed at the air around him, and then lost interest, turning instead to the corpses. It began pacing amidst the pieces of Blair, absorbed by the carnage of a single life destroyed a dozen times.

But that wasn't right, he realized then. The count was off. They were not a dozen. They were nine. Nine corpses. Nine deaths -- or nine lives lived and ended. The nine lives of a cat, all ended at once, all ended at that place, in that jungle, in the shadow of an undead, mindless void.

The panther's steps grew quicker, more agitated. It stopped only to raise its head and release an agonized cry.

"No!"

For a brief flash the cacophony returned as Vesuvius erupted once more. But the _thump-thump_ of the jungle's dark heart quickly swallowed the vision -- the memory -- until he was left alone again with the panther and the corpses.

The black mass swelled, having found sustenance.

The panther gazed up at him, seeming lost.

And then a name floated through his thoughts.

"Jim?" He called wordlessly.

The panther's gaze intensified. A rumble stirred the jungle floor.

"Jim?" He called again. "This isn't real."

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

"This isn't me."

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump_.

"You saved my life. You didn't end it."

The rumble erupted into a furious roar. The cat lowered its head, poising itself to pounce.

"Jim, it's a lie. You can't let it suck you in like this. You can't stay here."

The cat turned its head sideways, curious and attentive.

"You saved my life, Jim."

The vision returned, this time projected onto those emerald eyes. He saw within them the furies of Hell in a single, massive, fiery explosion.

"That wasn't your fault."

The cat growled.

The images returned, this time projected outward, bringing him back to a single moment in time, a moment far from visions and jungles.

He was standing on concrete. There was another man beside him, holding him close. Pressed up against the other's body, he could feel its heat, its desperation its paranoia. One of the man's hands was coiled tightly in his hair, controlling him like a puppeteer. There was something else in that hand as well, a small, square box that held the power of life and death and rested painfully against his skull. The man's other hand was no less threatening as it pressed the barrel of a gun firmly against his temple.

Held so in thrall, he saw Jim standing directly before him yet so far away so out of reach.

Jim pointed a gun toward him. In silent slow-motion he watched as the bullet left the chamber and rode the air to a point mere inches from his temple. He felt the splash of warm blood and then sound returned with a soft, subtle click as the fingers in his hair relaxed and fell away, releasing its hold on Pandora's box.

"No!" Jim shouted. But it was already too late. The countdown had begun.

Blair watched the image of himself surge forward, running toward the image of Jim. But ten seconds was all they had. Ten seconds from the time the trigger was released to the actual detonation. Ten seconds. Not even close to enough time.

He felt hot air blow into him, through him.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

As the images faded away, leaving him in the jungle once more, standing on soft, mossy ground instead of concrete, he saw that the black mass had grown larger still.

"No," Blair said softly.

The cat ignored him. It was pawing at the nearest corpse. The cat licked at the bloodied face.

"No, Jim," Blair repeated. "That isn't me. I'm alive. You saved my life."

The cat paused. It turned toward him. Blair waited patiently as it cautiously approached him, sniffing, studying.

"I'm alive, Jim." He reached out his hand, felt the cat's rough nose brush his finger, watched the swish of its long, black tail. "You saved my life."

The cat reacted then to something Blair could not himself see or hear. Tensing, hackles raised, the panther turned away from him, steering its attention to the nearest corpse. Blair followed its gaze to find that all of the corpses were changing. In each of them his own visage was disappearing. Each one was being reshaped into the features of another man. He realized then that they were transforming into the broken bodies of Army Rangers. And then, like a flower blossoming out of nothingness, the black mass spewed forth the crumbled remains of a helicopter.

"Oh man, Jim!" Blair called out. "No. This isn't true. This isn't real. You didn't kill them either, Jim. Come on! You know that. I know you know that."

The cat sniffed around him once more. A soft growl that was almost a purr emerged from its throat.

"Come back with me, Jim. This isn't where you belong."

The cat cocked its head.

"You saved my life, Jim," Blair went on. "And you did not bring down that helicopter. You did not kill these men. You would have saved them if you could, but you couldn't. There was nothing you could do. You almost died with them, Jim. You know that's true."

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

The dark heartbeat grew softer.

"Come back with me, Jim."

The panther sniffed the air.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

The black mass began to shrink.

"Come back."

_Thump-thump. Thump--._

The cat pounced.

* * *

Blair felt himself falling until he jerked awake within the confines of a hospital chair at Jim's bedside. The motion roused both his consciousness and his awareness of pain. On the plus side, he had already been cleared to go home. The worst of his many injuries was the nasty break in his right arm. His ribs had only been bruised, and the fire emanating from his left ankle was just a sprain. The rest of his 'reminders' came from a variety of ugly but benign bumps and scrapes.

He shifted in the seat, careful to avoid further disturbing his injured arm as he repositioned it into his sling. The cast made it feel as though he were working with a twenty-five pound dumbbell. Clearly the heaviness of the cast impacted his already awkward movements, as what had been a dull pain quickly escalated into a throbbing one. He never thought to suppress an agonized groan.

"I'm sorry."

The words broke through his thoughts with the effectiveness of a hammer striking glass. His pain relegated into something less important, Blair turned his attention to the man in the bed.

"Jim." He smiled despite the throbbing, even despite the anger Jim's words rekindled within him.

"It was my fault," Jim answered.

The smile vanished. "Jim, the only thing that was your fault was the way you blamed yourself for everything. Did you see any of the things I saw? You were there with me. I know you were."

Jim's brow creased in confusion. "Of course I was there." His words were whispered, his own exhaustion clearly turning even the small task of speaking into a challenge. "If I wasn't there, you wouldn't be...." He nodded toward Blair's arm, a small sigh escaping with the effort. "You wouldn't be wearing that. You wouldn't have come so close to...." The sentence remained unfinished.

Blair's sigh was heavier, a breathy display of frustration. He shook his head. "No, man. I'm not talking about _there_, at the warehouse. None of that has anything to do with ... anything. You saved my life back at that warehouse. We both know Davis was going to kill me. He was going to pull that trigger whether you did what he said or not."

"If I didn't shoot him, he would not have set off that detonator. The bomb . Jim paused to steady his breathing. It wouldnt have gone off."

"If you didn't shoot him, he would have shot me."

"We don't know that."

"Yes. We do. I was with him long enough to be a pretty good judge of his character -- or his psychosis, anyway. He had no intention of ever letting me go. You knew that, too. You should still know that. Come on, Jim. Think about it. Why did he bother to even set that bomb in the first place? It was back-up. He didn't care about himself. His hatred and paranoia was so ... so ingrained into him, so much a part of him, he was not going to let me out of there alive, even if it meant he had to die, too."

"I should have known should have seen it coming."

"How? None of us could have seen it coming. It wasnt until he stopped taking his meds that he became psychotic."

"I should have found another way."

"There was no other way, Jim. You did exactly what you had to do. Besides, it's all moot anyway. You stopped him. He failed. I did get out of there alive."

Jim looked at him with a pained, disbelieving gaze. He opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Finally, he gave his head a small, almost unnoticeable shake on the pillow.

"What is it?" Blair asked softly.

"I never believed in miracles," Jim said finally.

"Miracles?"

"You're alive, Blair." His brow creased in thought. "That's nothing short of a miracle. That bomb ." Jim's voice caught. His throat worked as though trying to swallow.

Recognizing Jim's discomfort, Blair awkwardly handed him a small cup of ice, and then tried to get up to help further, but Jim raised a tired hand to wave him off. Instead, Jim took a pinch of ice from the cup and placed it directly onto his tongue. "The bomb," He continued a moment later, "was right behind you. You should never have survived it."

"Hey, I can run pretty fast when I have to. I guess we both can. But Jim, you were running in the wrong direction, man."

"You don't actually think I could just stand there and watch you die?"

"No. I know. But your running towards me wasn't going to do anything but get you blown up right along with me."

"So?"

Blair smiled sadly. He could feel fresh tears starting to form and turned his head away in avoidance. "You saved my life twice there, Jim. First, you stopped him from shooting me, point blank; and second, you.... Dammit, Jim!"

As sadness shifted back to anger, Blair threw a heated gaze toward his friend. "You nearly killed yourself with that damned selfless, heroic, stupid move. A human shield is just so ... not ... bomb-proof." There came the tears again. This was ridiculous. He couldn't seem to figure out whether he wanted to shout or cry.

"If I saved your life in the process, that's all that would have mattered."

"No." The tears were affecting Blair's words now, catching them on stifled sobs. "You're not getting it. Jim, you almost died. Or ... or maybe you even did die, I'm still not really sure on that count. But how do you think I could live with that, huh? And to make things even worse, you .... You were so damned caught up in your own feelings of guilt, I swear you were either willing yourself to die or to stay dead. But that jungle was death, man. Maybe it was your own private Hell, I don't know. But it was death. And you were so damned boneheaded you were going to stay there. You weren't even going to try to fight back, were you? You wouldn't even let yourself think that maybe, just maybe that stupid, boneheaded move saved me. You just assumed I was dead, and so you were just going to stay there, sulking. And I didn't die, Jim. What the hell do you think that stubborn, selfish, pigheaded move of yours would have done to me? Do you honestly think I'd ever be able to forgive myself for letting you die to save me?"

"Are you finished?"

His words spent, his emotions in chaos, Blair could not answer.

"That's what I mean about a miracle." Jim blinked sluggishly. When he opened his eyes again, they were mere slits. "You should not have survived that blast. Neither of us should have. I saw ." Jim closed his eyes and swallowed once more. "I saw the explosives," He went on, his eyes still closed. "There was enough enough to level half a city block." The last words went from soft to nearly imperceptible as Jim's breathing grew slower and heavier. Finally, it was evident he had fallen asleep.

"Great," Blair said to himself, both mad and envious that Jim could fall asleep at that moment, in the middle of such an important conversation. Of course, he also knew Jim had barely survived that blast. For all of Blair's aches and pains, Jim had a lot more healing to do. "Hold that thought," He admonished Jim lightly before sinking back into the hard cushions beneath him.

Moments later, Blair's own breaths grew softer as he sank into a dreamy vision that took him back to the jungle.

"It's simple physics," Jim said, standing before him and looking both whole and hale.

"What?" Blair noticed that he too was whole and hale. The cast was gone.

"Logically, you should have died," Jim continued, "and that's the only signal that managed to get through to my stupid, boneheaded brain. In my mind you were dead because by all accounts you should have been; and it was my fault, because I screwed up. Twice. First when I introduced you to John Davis, and second when I let him detonate that bomb."

"How many times do I have to tell you, you did not screw up? You introduced us because it made sense. You and his cousin were old army buddies. His interests were similar to mine. End of story. But, Jim. Physics? Logic? Come on. You're standing here _here_ of all places, and you're talking about physics? Haven't the past few years given you enough proof that there's a whole lot more going on out there than physics or logic can even come close to touching?"

"Yeah, but you've got to admit Chief, miracles are new territory." Jim's smile was warm and reassuring despite the strange setting.

Blair glanced away to see the corpses of the Army Rangers fading into nothingness. He could feel them taking his own tension with them. It was as though their departure was allowing his emotional battles to reach toward some obscure truce.

"I wasn't responsible for their deaths," Jim went on. "The miracle was that I survived. I knew that, once. But at the warehouse, seeing Davis like that, somehow all I could remember was the responsibility; all I could imagine was that I had failed them and I couldn't do that to you. I knew you were going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it except."

"Throw yourself on top of me," Blair finished. "You jumped straight into the fire and then into your own private Hell."

Jim shrugged. His smile grew sheepish. "That wasn't exactly the plan. I mean, face it, we're still getting used to this whole vision thing."

"Oh, I don't know," Blair answered lightly, glancing around to remind Jim of their surroundings. "I'd say we're getting a pretty good handle on them."

"Thank you, Blair."

"For what?"

"You saved my life here. Your diving into my vision wasn't much different than my...." He seemed to consider the comparison for a moment, and then he cocked his head, smiling. "Diving on top of you at that warehouse."

"I didn't exactly break your arm in the process."

"No. But you did break me out of something that would've been more permanent. If you want to talk about heroism, you can't ignore your own heroic, stupid, boneheaded move."

"What?"

"You went straight to Hell for me, Chief."

"It was a vision, Jim. It was no different than when you pulled me back after Alex ...." He took a shuddering breath and let the rest of his words drop.

"It was completely different. You weren't in Hell."

"We don't know that this ." Blair shook his head, confused. "Whatever was Hell, Jim. We don't even know for sure you were dead. The doctor didnt."

"I know, Chief. Trust me on that fact. So in a sense, you not only saved my life, you saved my soul."

"No way. That's just too...." Blair shrugged through a shiver. Based on the way it fired an agonizing reminder about his arm, it was apparently a move that was mirrored in his physical self back in the hospital chair. He marveled for a brief moment about finding himself in two places at once, and was about to share that thought with Jim when his friend spoke up instead.

"Sandburg, go home," Jim ordered. "Take whatever they gave you for the pain, and have Simon or Joel take you home. Get some sleep. You need it. Frankly, so do I." Jim closed his eyes and his image began to fade away.

"Jim?" Blair called him back to the jungle. "Man, how do you do that?"

Jim opened his eyes again to gaze innocently at Blair. "Do what?"

"Turn things on and off like that. I mean, we're talking about miracles, you know the mysteries of the universe here, in the middle of a a vision and you just ... turn off. 'Go home,' you say, like we were just standing here talking about some ball game or something."

"It's a survival technique, Chief. Some things you just have to learn to let go. Not every battle is meant to be fought every minute of every day. Between dealing with Davis and pulling me out of Hell, I'd say you've faced enough battles to last you several lifetimes. But if you allow yourself the time you need to heal, then you still might have a few more battles left in you -- you know, to face whatever mystery of life is going to be thrown at us next."

Blair couldn't help but match his friend's smile. "Yeah, well if you put it that way."

A moment later, Blair found himself wholly back in the hospital chair. He gazed at Jim to find his friend still sleeping soundly.

"Sleep," Blair said lazily to himself. "I like that plan." But the deep breath he tried to take sent stabbing pains through his bruised ribs. And when he started to push himself to his feet every muscle in his body protested the move.

"Or maybe I'll just sleep some more right here."

Slipping back into the uncomfortable chair, Blair let his eyes slide closed. After all, simply trying to move would be a battle, wouldn't it? And Jim was right about one thing. He'd faced enough battles lately. It was time to let go. He was alive. Jim was alive. And if what they had glimpsed really had been Hell, then he was okay with that too. At least the jungle was something he understood.

* * *

Welcome To My Nightmare

_by Alice Cooper _

_Welcome to my nightmare_

_I think you're gonna like it,_

_I think you're gonna feel_

_Like you belong_

_A nocturnal vacation,_

_Unnecessary sedation,_

_You want to feel at home_

_Cause you belong_

_Welcome to my nightmare._

_Welcome to my breakdown._

_I hope I didn't scare you._

_That's just the way we are_

_When we come down._

_We sweat, laugh and scream here,_

_Cuz life is just a dream here._

_You know inside you_

_Feel right at home, here_

_Welcome to my breakdown._

_Whoa, You're welcome to my nightmare,_

_Yeah, I think you're gonna like it,_

_I think you're gonna feel_

_That you belong,_

_We sweat, laugh and scream here,_

_Cuz life is just a dream here._

_You know inside you feel_

_Right at home here,_

_Welcome to my nightmare._

_Welcome to my breakdown. Yeah_

~end~


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